


Stranger Flings

by Wreybies



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Bears, Bellies are beautiful, Belly Kink, Big guys, Dadbods, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Making up for lost time, Men of size, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-29 03:21:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19821508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wreybies/pseuds/Wreybies
Summary: Chief Hopper needs new walkie talkies... and Bob Newby needs Hopper.





	Stranger Flings

“I don’t know, Bob. The last ones were crap.” Hopper eyed the walkie talkies. At a hundred bucks a pop, they were very pricey.

“You guys bought those cheap imports last time. I’m surprised they lasted ten minutes out in the field. These are fully waterproof, and the range is crazy. You can be in the next county and I swear you could hear me.” Bob set the walkie talkies down on the glass counter. “Who set you guys up with that shortwave radio, huh? Had any trouble with it?” he asked, cocking a jovial sideways smile.

“Yeah, the radio’s great, but we’re talking about outfitting every cop in the whole department, not just one radio.”

“Oh, what, we’re _Chicago_ now? How many units are we talking about, Hopper? Maybe ten?”

“That’s a thousand bucks, Bob. And no, we’re not Chicago. Chicago would have a thousand bucks in a petty cash drawer. Wanna’ know what I can buy with what’s in _my_ petty cash box? Pop-Tarts, that’s what.”

“Look, all I’m saying is that these are American made, and you know you can depend on me, right here, if anything goes wrong with them, right? And with all the bonkers stuff going on, can you really afford not to?”

Hopper gave him a wry grin that was made mostly out of mustache. Bob was a good salesman and he didn’t mind leaning into a little hokeyness to close the deal. Still, a thousand dollars wasn’t really in the budget.

“I don’t know, man…”

“How about this - I’m off work in a couple of hours. I’ll bring two of these puppies out to your trailer and we’ll go out in the woods by the lake and give’um a try. I promise you’ll love them. Wadda’ya say?”

“No commitment? If I don’t like’um, I ain’t buy’n’um.”

“No commitment. Come on! It’ll be fun, like when we were kids.”

Like when they were kids. But they weren’t kids anymore, were they? No. Looking at their combined waistlines, youth was a while back. Still, Bob’s good-natured cheeriness was hard to refuse. Hopper was no fool, though. Bob worked on commission and a thousand dollar sale would be a big payday for him.

“Okay, sure,” said Hopper. “Beer I got, but I don’t know about food.”

Bob’s eyes nearly disappeared into the crinkles of his huge grin. “I’ll stop at Mario’s and grab a pizza. Sound good?”

“Sounds good, man. See ya’ there.”

* * *

The sun was just sliding behind the treetops when Bob’s little hatchback _Camry_ pulled up next to Hopper’s _Blazer_ , crunching the stones in the dirt in front of the trailer. Hopper was already walking to the door, shrugging into a shirt, when Bob rapped on the door.

“‘C’mon in, man. Beer?” Hopper offered.

“Yeah, a beer would be nice.”

“Just put the pizza there on the counter. You got the units?”

Bob slipped out of a backpack he was carrying. “Right here. Fresh batteries, those new _Energizer_ ones. They last forever!”

Bob carefully removed the two walkie talkie units. Hopper had to admit that they felt much more solid and hefty than the old ones. He passed them back and took two longnecks from the refrigerator, popped the tops against the edge of the counter, and passed one over. Bob took it with an appreciative wink.

A half-hour later they were sat in front of the console television. Half of the pizza was gone along with two beers each.

“ _Cheers_ is on later,” said Hopper.

“Norm!” yelled Bob.

Hopper gave him a mustachioed grin. “It’s gonna’ be dark soon and I don’t wanna’ be out too late. Let’s go give these things a try.”

Bob got up with enthusiasm, brushing crumbs away from his round stomach.

For a split second, Hopper wondered how it would feel, if it was soft and squishy, or if it was taught and firm. He shook his head to clear the thought away, then glanced at the pizza, the mushrooms suddenly looking suspicious.

He hadn’t thought about Bob like that since high school. Bob the Brain, so eager, too eager for his own good. That kind of thing doesn’t play well in high school where carefully curated indifference is the name of the game. His huge smile had been both engaging when it was just the two of them, and off-putting when others were around, quick to judge any show of making space for the guy who started the A.V. Club. Hopper respected the way that eager-to-please attitude had remained in him, that flame undiminished.

Hopper certainly could not say the same about himself. Uncle Sam and then Uncle Beer had taken their toll in many ways. Looking down at his nascent gut, the evidence was all too clear, and even there the difference between them showed. Hopper’s belly said resignation, Bob’s said he owned who he was and was more than happy with it.

“Where’re the kids?” Bob asked absently.

“I don’t know. Kids, man. Who the hell knows what’s going on with them.” Hopper knew much more than that, but where to even begin with that conversation? “So how are we gonna’ do this?”

“I say we each walk for like ten minutes in opposite directions and then try to contact each other. That should put a good distance between us, but we’ll each only be half that distance from here, so it’s not so much of a walk back,” he offered.

Yep, Bob the Brain.

Outside the trailer, they checked that their watches were in sync, set each of the units to channel "B", then Hopper headed off to the right of the trailer and Bob to the left.

It was a cool late afternoon, the weather already showing signs of changing for the seasons. Hopper tromped up and down the low rolling hills around the trailer. Pine needles made a heavy carpet on the ground and together with the surrounding woods, growing deeper and thicker, muffled any sound that might be heard out here. Just the hiss of gently swaying trees and the occasional songbird.

The unit suddenly popped and squawked. He adjusted the squelch and Bob’s voice came through crisply.

“Copy back, Hopper. How does it sound?”

Hopper grinned at Bob’s attempt to use military lingo. “Sounds great, man. I gotta’ hand it to ya’, these are much better than the pieces of shit we’re using now, over.”

“Told you!” replied Bob, then, “Oh, yeah, over!”

“And if they go bad, you can fix’um? Over.” Hopper started to head back the way he had come. “I’m heading back now, man. It’s getting dark.”

“Yeah, I can totally fix these. I’ve got the schematics and everything. And since these are in-house, I’ve got all the parts too. I know they’re expensive, but it’s a real investment if you think about it. Over.”

Of course, Bob thought it was an investment. Big sale, followed by repairs and replacements. Hopper thought about it a moment, how Bob had turned what he loved to do into his actual job.

Bob was a lucky guy, and Hopper knew it. He wished he were as lucky as that. The only thing life threw his way lately were insane chases and government baddies who were supposed to be the goodies but certainly weren’t.

No, Hopper had a lot of practice with bad guys who were supposed to be good guys. Personal experience. All he had to do was look in the mirror.

But Bob…

Hopper had to admit it - he was jealous. Jealous of his happiness, and of his ignorance to what was going on in their town. Hopper wished for a time when that blessed ignorance had been his as well. Not anymore.

“Hey, Hopper, I think I got turned around. Over,” said Bob’s voice through the walkie talkie.

The trailer was just coming into view. Bob was nowhere to be seen.

“Don’t panic, Bob, but stop walking, okay? Over.”

“Okay. I’m… I don’t know where I am.” There was a hint of concern in Bob’s voice, though he tried to laugh through it like it was funny. Hopper knew that getting lost in the woods was scary, but there were enough roads around here that if you just kept in one direction, you eventually found asphalt.

But these were strange times, and misadventure had a way of finding people out here.

“Tell me what you see, Bob. Are you up on a hill or down in a hollow or out in a field? Over.” Hopper passed the trailer and headed in the direction Bob had gone. There were confusing tracks all around the trailer from countless footsteps. His own, Eleven’s, the other kids. He kept walking until the confusion petered out into a single trail through the pine needles. There wasn’t much point in telling Bob to trace his way back via his own tracks. He’d just get more lost since that was a skill Hopper assumed Bob did not possess.

“I’m up on a small hill, over,” he replied.

“Okay, man. Stay there. I’ll find you, I promise.”

“Okay.”

Hopper was struck by how young and frightened Bob’s voice sounded just then.

“Hey, Bob. You remember that time you wrote that paper for me in Mr. Sinclair’s class, and he let it slide but kept dropping hints all year that he knew we’d cheated? Over.” Hopper hoped a little distraction would calm Bob.

“Yeah, yeah. I remember that. We never got busted, but he knew, all right. Over.”

“Yeah, he knew.” There were lots of stories like those in Hopper’s past. Few of the papers he’d ever turned in had actually been written by him.

“Too bad you couldn’t take P.E. for me,” Bob replied. “I hated P.E. Over.”

Locker rooms are never kind to guys like Bob. It's a place where social norms are replaced by grunts and posturing. Muscles and pecker size trumped brains and achievement in that humid space, redolent of gym socks.

A memory grabbed Hopper by the groin. Pecker size was one thing Bob didn’t have to worry about. He had never been the most impressive specimen to fill out a polo shirt, but down below, Bob was top-tier.

And he had occasionally caught Bob eyeing him, which is always an awkward moment because if you said something, it meant you’d been eyeing him back.

Had he?

“Bob, I want you to find where the sun went down. From there, look to your two o’clock and then to your ten o’clock and tell me what you see in either direction. Over.”

“At my two is the big TV antenna at the edge of town and at my ten is just more hills. Over.”

The trail was still visible through the pine needles. The little triangulation deal was just to help Bob feel like Hopper had some G.I. Joe skills he was pulling out of his back pocket. He finally saw Bob’s dark form next to a big pine.

Bob must have heard Hopper's steps. He turned and raised his hands in appreciative relief.

“Oh, man! I thought I was done for sure!” Bob huffed down the small hill, his jacket still zipped up tight. For a split second, Hopper was convinced Bob was going to throw his arms around him, but at the last second, he stopped. Instead, he said, “See? You already rescued someone with these. Me!”

Hopper was a roiling mess of emotion encased in a wobbly Jell-O mold of horniness.

“I’d’ve taken the P.E. class for you, Bob. But I liked it better with you there.”

“Why? Did having the roly-poly guy there to make fun of make it more enjoyable?”

“Did I ever make fun of you, Bob?”

“No, no you didn’t. But sometimes I thought maybe you didn’t like me very much. You looked at me funny sometimes.”

And there was the confirmation. They’d both been looking, perhaps both wanting a thing they didn’t have words for, and in the draconian realms of locker rooms and high school hallways, even if they’d had the words, Hopper knew he himself would certainly never have had the balls to speak them.

Not then.

He quickly ducked in and kissed Bob. It was so quick, the other man didn’t even have the chance to accept or refuse. The lofty tops of pine trees greeted the stars now just making their presence known, nodding down to the small drama playing out beneath them. The stars twinkled in delight.

“Hopper… I… I…”

“Fuck,” said Hopper. “Look, man. I’m sorry. Jesus Christ, I’m just a fucking idiot.” He placed worried fingers to his temple and eyed the stunned man, waiting for the blowback that was sure to come.

“How’d you know?” whispered Bob.

Suddenly Hopper could breathe again. “I didn’t. But if you thought I was looking at you funny, it wasn’t ever because I didn’t like you, man. I thought you were great. You _are_ great. I just never knew how to ask you or say anything to you. I still don’t, and I’m pretty sure I’m fucking this up ten ways from Sunday.”

Bob slowly dropped the arm where he held the walkie talkie and approached Hopper. In the dimming light, with the smell of pine needles heavy in the air, Bob placed an impossibly gentle kiss beneath the rug of Hopper’s whiskers. His amazingly soft hand, the free one, came up to Hopper's stubbly cheek and wrapped around the side, his thumb caressing Hopper's ear.

Hopper quickly leaned down to place his walkie talkie on the mulch at their feet. His nostrils flared when his hands found that Bob’s tummy was indeed taught and firm and the roundness of it, the beautiful curve, pulled at places deep in Hopper's pelvis.

* * *

The trail of footsteps stopped at the trailer door but was replaced with a new trail inside made of shirts and shoes, jackets and pants and underwear leading to Hopper’s small room.

They kissed endlessly. Hundreds of kisses making up for lost years. Hopper wanted to bury his nose in Bob’s belly. He wanted to kiss it, to lick it, to feel it against his face. It was gloriously beautiful, and Bob - God bless him - gave in to Hopper’s attention without the slightest reservation, laughing and giggling the whole time at how Hopper's whiskers tickled, but never once pulling away, only ever urging him on. Hopper wasn’t remotely as secure about his own physique and had expected the same from Bob.

Nope.

True to his personality, Bob loved and returned every praise, every kiss, every touch. Bob’s exuberance and eagerness - the same eagerness Hopper remembered in the hallways between classes - transformed them both into teenagers again.

Bob trembled against him as Hopper stroked his cock.

“Please, yes,” he whispered into Hopper's neck.

“Dude, I always knew you had a big one, but damn, man!”

Bob chuckled against him. “Well, there it is. What are we gonna’ do about it?”

What they did about it was clumsy and goofy and filled with abandon. This was a first for Hopper and Bob claimed the same. They weren’t remotely ready to go all the way, but there were miles and miles of territory to explore between now and that moment, sometime in the future.

Bob gave him everything he wanted and only asked for the same in return. Curled next to each other in the small bed (creaking ominously) Hopper stroked Bob to climax. He wanted to watch it happen, to see Bob cum onto his belly, but Bob begged him to look him in the eyes when the moment came. The hot spray poured over Hopper’s hand and Bob’s eyes rolled back and he shuddered uncontrollably, his breathing so deep it seemed to come up from his soul.

Bob’s signature grin replaced the slack ecstasy.

“What about you?” Bob said.

Just then the sound of the trailer door banged through the locked door to Hopper’s room.

“I’m home!” came Eleven’s voice. “I know, I’m late, but…”

The silence was deafening.

The trail of clothing on the floor outside the room had been forgotten.

There’s no name for the snorted laugh of smug satisfaction from a young teenager at having caught the powers that be in a compromising situation, but there should be a name for that.

There really _should_ be.

They heard the door to her room click shut.

“I am never going to be able to tell her a single thing - ever - again.” Hopper made to untangle himself from Bob.

“Yeah, the cat’s out of the bag. But, if that’s how it’s gonna’ be, may as well enjoy it,” said Bob, pulling Hopper back down to him.

He was right.

“Come here, you.”


End file.
